


Somebody Like You

by MiniMangaFan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Football Player Louis, Gardens & Gardening, Locked In, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangaFan/pseuds/MiniMangaFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh look at the time,” Louis says quickly, turning on his heel and rushing to the greenhouse door. He twists the handle and tugs on it a few times, yanking progressively harder. “Oi, Harry, if you’re the president, then you’re in charge of this shack, right? So why won’t the fucking door open?”</p><p>Harry carefully steps over the mess on the ground and heads to the door, giving the handle a twist and pulling as hard as he can. It’s a futile attempt because the door doesn’t budge, not that Harry thought it would. There’s no way Louis would have known to be careful with the door, and with the wind howling outside right now, shutting it gently would be near-impossible.</p><p>“It’s shut,” Harry says, giving it a final, firm yank. The door doesn’t move an inch.</p><p>Or, Harry and Louis are locked in a greenhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody Like You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/gifts).



> so this is my spring exchange fic, for lucdarling. you gave me some amazing prompts, and it was really hard to pick between them. In the end, I went for the word association one, sheerly for timing purposes, so I hope you enjoy it?
> 
> thank you to my beta, and thank you to the mods who started this exchange, and the mods who took over while it was floundering. i'm looking forward to reading all the fics :)
> 
> title from [Wicked Game - Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WtfHk2hSlqA)
> 
> enjoy!

“Don’t give me that look, Echo,” Harry scolds, pulling the last corner of the muddy white tarpaulin over the bed of daffodils and weighing it down with a brick. “Don’t need you getting ruined in the storm tonight now, do we?”

A gust of wind picks up on cue, rattling the tarpaulin Harry laid down, but it holds steady. Harry lets out a satisfied huff. It was the last bed to cover, right at the back of the garden, and the daffodils are some of Harry’s favourite. He wipes rain drops from his cheeks and pulls the sleeves of his coat down, repressing a shiver. Now that the beds are all covered, he just needs to move the potted plants into the greenhouse and check on everything in there. It’s not his turn to check up on the plants in the morning, but he’ll probably come by early anyway just to make sure there’s no damage. Harry’s used to those kinds of hours as the Gardening Society’s president, and well, he wouldn’t _be_ president if he didn’t like gardening.

“Come on, Jaz,” Harry murmurs absent-mindedly, walking over to the clay pot of summer jasmine, the deep green stems winding around the short stick Harry stuck firmly in the soil. He works slowly; the tiled paths are slick with rainwater, and the sun set hours ago making it hard to see. There are a few lamps strung up here and there, but the rain is too thick for the light to be much use.

When all the potted plants are safely in the greenhouse, Harry steps inside and carefully shuts the door. Over the winter, the lock on the greenhouse has been fragile and the society hasn’t managed to raise the funds to fix it yet. One slam too hard, and the door becomes incapable of opening from the inside. The rain is hammering down now, and Harry’s gut says there’ll be thunder any moment. He pushes back the soaking hood from his face and shakes his head, gearing himself up to pick up the pace now so he can be out of here before it gets _really_ bad. The union’s garden isn’t a frequently visited hotspot, and though his friends all know he spends a lot of time there, no one knows he’s in the greenhouse right now. If something were to happen, not that Harry’s _anticipating_ disaster, the chances are he wouldn’t be found ‘til morning.

It’s smooth sailing for the most part: most of the vegetables were planted in early March, so they haven’t started sprouting just yet, not properly at least. The shoots that Harry can see all look good, and the shrubbery hasn’t been damaged. The greenhouse is a safe haven during storms like this, Harry’s being overcautious but double checking can’t hurt. He’s just flicking on the heaters since it’s fucking freezing outside, and making sure there aren’t any leaks, when disaster strikes.

Well, kind of.

It’s just there’s a crack of thunder that causes Harry to let out a fearful yelp, sending him back into one of the wooden tables piled high in the corner which crashes into the floor, and at the same time, someone opens the door to the greenhouse and enters, slamming it shut.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, sitting up and rubbing his back where it banged into the edge of the table. He’s lucky he didn’t hit his head, at least.

“Shit,” comes an unknown, masculine voice, and right, someone else is in the greenhouse now. “I didn’t – fuck, mate, you alright?”

“Full offence, but does it look like I’m alright?” Harry retorts, wincing as he sits up further. Lightning flashes across the sky, and Harry can see exactly how many pots smashed when the table tipped over. Some of the plants might be saveable, thank God, but fuck, it’ll cost the society to replace those pots.

“Just tryna be helpful, mate,” the voice says again, and suddenly there’s a bright, white light shining in Harry’s face. He blinks, shielding his eyes, and the light dips to focus on his lower body. “Here, take my hand.”

Harry takes the man’s hand and lets him help him up. The light is coming from the man’s phone, it seems, and reminds Harry that he had a torch in his hand moments ago. He can see it out of the corner of his eye now, smashed right next to the shattered pots. Fantastic.

“I’m Louis,” the man says, shining his phone light at his own face long enough for Harry to get a good look at him. He’s vaguely familiar, is what Harry thinks at first. He’s seen Louis somewhere, he remembers the scruffy fringe, even though it’s soaked with rain water right now, and his cheekbones, but he can’t place it.

“I’m Harry,” he replies, trying not to blink too much when Louis shines the light back on him. “Um, not to be rude but like, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question now, couldn’t I, Harry?” Louis counters, full of bravado, and Harry can’t help but snort.

“I’m the president of the Gardening Soc,” he answers, watching the expression on Louis’ face drop. “You’re not part of the society. We’re pretty small and I make a habit of learning everyone’s names. So, what are you doing here?”

“Oh look at the time,” Louis says quickly, turning on his heel and rushing to the greenhouse door. He twists the handle and tugs on it a few times, yanking progressively harder. “Oi, Harry, if you’re the president, then you’re in charge of this shack, right? So why won’t the fucking door open?”

Harry carefully steps over the mess on the ground and heads to the door, giving the handle a twist and pulling as hard as he can. It’s a futile attempt because the door doesn’t budge, not that Harry thought it would. There’s no way Louis would have known to be careful with the door, and with the wind howling outside right now, shutting it gently would be near-impossible.

“It’s shut,” Harry says, giving it a final, firm yank. The door doesn’t move an inch.

“Well, I can see that,” Louis snipes, kicking the door. “What I asked, is why won’t it fucking open?”

“I meant it’s shut as in locked shut,” Harry says, turning on Louis and glaring. “When you barged in here, which I still want to know _why_ , by the way, you must have let the door slam shut and because the lock is dodgy, the door can’t be opened from the inside now. We’re stuck.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Louis laughs sharply. “That’s not an actual thing that happens to people. Getting locked in greenhouses with strangers in the middle of a storm doesn’t _actually_ happen in real life, right?”

“You tell me, Louis,” Harry huffs. There’s another crack of thunder and Harry barely stops himself from jumping. The lightning is quicker to follow this time, barely seconds after the thunder stops rumbling. “You’re the one that got us locked in here.”

“How the fuck was I meant to know the lock is dodgy?” Louis retorts, huffing and crossing his arms. “You’re the president, you should be fixing shit like this!”

“If we had the funds, we’d fix it already.” Harry likes to think he’s a pretty patient guy, but irritation is bubbling up in his chest. It’s not _his_ fault that they’re locked in here, with a fucking storm raging outside and no way of getting out. “Check if you’ve got signal. Maybe we can ring someone to come help us out.”

The white light flashes to the ground as Louis checks his phone. “No, not even Wi-Fi,” he says, frowning. Harry checks his own, finding similar results. “You get Wi-Fi everywhere on this campus, why not here?”

“Fuck’s sake, I don’t _know_ ,” Harry groans, pressing his fingers to his temple. A crack of thunder booms, and Harry lets out a choked off whimper. “Sometimes we get a bit of signal, but this place is so far out of the way, it’s like a black hole.”

“Mate, are you okay?” Louis asks hesitantly, stepping closer to Harry and shining the light at his chest, partially illuminating Harry’s face. “You look like you’re gonna vom.”

“Don’t like storms,” Harry grits out, ducking his head from the light. It feels like the glass walls of the greenhouse are closing in on him, and he can see the rain slamming into the glass and the lightning fizzling in the sky. He needs to take his mind off the storm, to do something to keep himself busy, but there’s nothing to do locked in a greenhouse with a complete stranger. He could tidy up the mess of shattered plant pots, but with the little light they do have, he’s more likely to cut himself on clay or do a shit job at repotting the plants. Leaving it until the morning won’t kill the plants, at least.

“Why’re you out here then?” Louis asks again. “Surely your gardening could’ve waited a few hours ‘til the storm blew over?”

“Not if I wanted the plants to be alive after the storm.” During Harry’s first year in the society, there was a late night storm in winter that ravaged half the garden. Harry doesn’t want anything like that happening on his watch. Not if he can help it.

“Right, and they’re all protected?” Louis continues, and Harry nods. “Then we’ll smash one of the panels and crawl out of here, easy peasy, yeah?”

“Those glass panels cost over a hundred quid to replace,” Harry says quickly, snapping his head up as Louis steps closer to the walls. “You break it, and you’re fucking paying for it, mate. Our soc’s funding is shit already, I can’t – _fuck_ ,” more thunder echoes through the sky. “I can’t afford to cover it.”

“Great,” Louis groans, clearly frustrated. He kicks a stray pebble and almost drops his phone, fumbling with it between his hands until he catches it just before it hits the ground. “That was the greatest fucking moment of my life, why is no one here to witness it?”

“It was pretty smooth,” Harry admits, watching Louis straighten up and tuck his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. They’re cast into darkness again, just the faint orange glow of the heaters offering a weak light. Harry checks his phone again on the off chance there’s enough signal to send a text asking for help, but there’s no change. They’re still fucked.

“Right, well, d’you wanna smoke then?” Louis asks, suddenly sounding a lot more upbeat. “Gotta couple of blunts with me. It’ll help you calm down if you’re up for it.”

Harry blinks and stares at Louis, taken aback. What the fuck is this guy doing in a greenhouse during a storm with fucking weed in his pocket? “You know we’re in a greenhouse, right? You can’t _smoke_ in here.”

“There’s no baccy in it,” Louis says, pulling a blunt from his pocket and holding it up for Harry to see. “Can’t be that bad for the plants?”

“ _No_ ,” Harry repeats.

Louis sighs and squeezes past Harry to plonk himself on the floor next to the nearest heater. He folds his legs under himself and sets his phone, torch on, against the leg of a table to light up their little space. Harry sits opposite him and watches as Louis withdraws a slightly squished plastic bag of brownies from his pocket. “How about these then?”

“That’s…” Harry trails off, staring at the bag incredulously. “Why do you have so much weed in your pockets?”

Louis grins. “I was just swinging by here on my way to a friend’s. I owed him weed, and I always make good on my promises,” he explains. He opens the bag and stuffs a brownie in his mouth, then offers it to Harry. “They’re good and strong. Take one.”

“If you insist,” Harry jokes, taking a brownie and eating it quickly. It _is_ good, just like Louis promised, and it’s been too long since Harry got high. He shrugs off his raincoat and puts it to the side, letting the warmth of the heater spread over his skin. He eats another brownie, and if he focuses hard enough on Louis, he can almost ignore the thundering outside.

“You’ve got crumbs on your…” Harry pauses, gesturing vaguely to Louis’ facial hair. It’s not enough to call it a beard, but it’s _something_. “Scruff.”

Louis eats another brownie and wipes his mouth, brushing the crumbs to his lap. “Better?”

“I don’t know, maybe the crumby look suited you,” Harry muses, tapping his chin in mock-thought.

“You’re talking such shit,” Louis laughs, offering Harry the bag again. There’s only a few brownies left, so Harry readily takes another. He’s eaten enough now that when the high hits, it’ll be a good one.

“It’s my speciality,” Harry says. He closes his eyes and leans against the heater, listening to the quiet sounds of Louis’ breath and the rain outside. The longer he sits there, the less he cares about the storm, and the more he enjoys just _being_ there. Louis was definitely right about how strong the brownies were.

He opens his eyes eventually, and notices that Louis’ staring at him, his face soft with a gentle smile on his lips. “So, _Louis_ ,” Harry starts, eager to get them talking again. Louis’ name rolls off Harry’s tongue, and he finds himself wanting to repeat it. “What were you doing in my greenhouse anyway?”

“Fuck, okay, it’s—” Louis breaks off to laugh, biting on his lower lip. “Okay, so you grow stuff here, right?”

“It _is_ a greenhouse,” Harry grins. Louis’ voice is breathy and high-pitched, and the more Harry hears it, the more he wants to hear it. “Kinda the point, mate.”

“Yeah, exactly, so like,” Louis brushes his fringe out of his eyes, still damp with rainwater but drying slowly under the blasts from the heater. The light from Louis’ phone highlights his cheek bones and makes him look ethereal, like an angel. “I got some weed yesterday and there was a seed in there, like, a bunch of ‘em.”

“A weed seed?” Harry giggles.

Louis nods, pulling another clear sandwich bag from his pocket and holding it up to the light of the phone, illuminating three small, dark seeds. “A weed seed. Figured I could plant ‘em and grow my own weed. Cut out the middle man dealer and save myself a small fortune.”

The wheels in Harry’s brain turn sluggishly, but as Louis pockets the bag of weed seeds, a spark goes off and he makes the connection. “You wanna grow weed in my fucking greenhouse?”

“Well, yeah,” Louis says. “It’s hot, innit? And like, you’re an experienced gardener if you’re president, aren’t you? So, if you let me grow it here and we get a proper farm going. I’ll even let you have some of the profit. This is fucking philanthropic, my guy.”

Harry stares, slack-jawed at Louis for a long moment. “ _No_.”

“You’re not getting a cut then,” Louis huffs, sticking his tongue out at Harry. There’s another rumble of thunder outside, but Harry barely flinches; he’s too high to care about the storm. “Missed opportunities, mate. And seriously, what’s the fucking point of being president of the gardening society if you’re not gonna start a farm in the fucking greenhouse?”

“Well, I’d be part of the baking society but they’re all cunts,” Harry replies without thinking. It’s true, the baking society were so full of cliques and drama that Harry could barely last one social, let alone run a campaign for a committee position. “And I like gardening. Jaz is looking lovely over there, isn’t it?”

“Jaz?” Louis echoes, frowning and shining his phone over to where Harry’s gesturing. The white light reflects off the petals prettily, and Harry’s really quite proud of how his summer jasmine is turning out. “D’you name the fucking plants?”

“Of course,” Harry says slowly. “It’s why I’m such a good gardener, y’know? It’s _personal_.”

“Personal?” Louis scoffs. “They’re flowers, mate. I bet you talk to them too, don’t you?”

“I do,” Harry admits, not even embarrassed about it. “I used to help out my nan in her garden. She’d always talk to her flowers and she had the most beautiful garden. Like, goals, honestly.”

“Well, Harold, I expect a full tour of your garden,” Louis declares, rising to his feet unsteadily. “I want to be introduced to everyone. You’ve been a shit host so far, you know.”

Harry stands up as well, using Louis to steady himself because his legs have gone numb from sitting, and the tingles of pins and needles makes it difficult to stand by himself. “Can’t say I expected to have a guest.”

“A good host prepares for everything,” Louis says, linking his arm with Harry’s and turning so they’re facing the plants on the closest table. “Who have we got here, then?”

“This is Nigel,” Harry says, reaching out to caress the tips of the green stalks sticking out of the flower bed. “It’s a hibiscus plant we’re growing. It’ll be replanted outside in a month or so. I named it Nigel because the flowers will be bright pink, like Nigel the treasurer’s hair.”

“Fascinating. Though it’s a bit harsh calling Nigel an ‘it’, don’t you think?” Louis muses. He drags Harry away from Nigel as he speaks, and walks him over to Jaz at the opposite end of the greenhouse. Clearly the ‘full tour’ is a lot more condensed than Harry thought it was going to be.

“Well it’s not a he or she,” Harry shrugs. “Just Nigel the hibiscus. And over here,” Harry points at the pot of lavender growing on one of the tables, “is Barry, the lavender plant.”

Louis raises his brows, staring at Harry. “Why’s the lavender called Barry then?”

“Lavender is a bee-friendly,” Harry explains, “and Barry is the name of the hero from the iconic 2007 film _Bee Movie_. Ergo, the lavender is called Barry.”

Louis nods approvingly. “According to all known laws of aviation—”

“—there is no way a bee should be able to fly,” Harry finishes, grinning wildly. “Didn’t take you for a fan?”

“The woman leaves her husband for a _bee_ ,” Louis snorts. “Of course I’m not a fan. Lots of male names, though. Where’s the equality?”

“Well, you’ve met Jaz,” Harry says, taking Louis’ phone from his hands and flashing the torch over to the pot of jasmine. “Jaz is a jasmine plant.”

“Original,” Louis interjects.

“ _Classic_ ,” Harry corrects. He flashes the torch over to the back panel of glass, where the dirty white tarpaulin covering the bed of daffodils can just be seen in the darkness outside. “And outside under the plastic is Echo, the daffodils.”

Louis raises himself up on to his tip toes to get a better look, and Harry’s smile widens. He hadn’t really paid much attention to Louis’ height, he was too concerned with trying to figure out how he knew Louis, but Harry’s weed-clouded mind likes the idea of Louis being smaller than him. “What’s the story behind that, then?”

“Daffodils are actually narcissus flowers,” Harry explains, preening a little as he finally gets the chance to show off some of his knowledge. It’s not often that people outside of the society care enough about his flowers to ask about them and listen to his rambles. “You know the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus?”

“I do,” Louis says. “Pretty pretentious, mate.”

Harry shrugs; it’s not like he can deny that. “Makes for an interesting story though.”

“Sure.” Louis kicks a stray stone off the tiled path, knocking it into a pot with a clang that rings out through the greenhouse. The kick triggers a memory in the back of Harry’s mind, and he gasps.

“I know who you are,” Harry says, jabbing his finger at Louis.

Louis’ brown twitch, a smile curling his lips as he stares at Harry. “I know you’re high but I _did_ introduce myself, y’know.”

“I mean,” Harry drawls, “I recognised you but I couldn’t remember where from. You – you’re the captain of the first football team, aren’t you?”

“Ex.” Louis says shortly, looking down at his feet. “Ex-captain. Used to be. Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Harry brings his hand up to his hair, awkwardly running his fingers through it. Louis’ shoulders hunch forward and he’s still looking at the ground, and guilt churns in Harry’s stomach. With spring blooming, he’s been so busy in the gardens he hasn’t been able to make any of the first’s football matches; he had no idea Louis wasn’t the captain anymore.

“Yeah, it’s…” Louis trails off. He turns the torch off his phone and shoves it in the pocket of his jeans, spinning on his heel and going back to the heater. He curls up in front of it and loops his arms around his knees.

Harry sits opposite him, pressed against the heater, and taps Louis’ knee. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t realise it was a sore spot.”

“It’s fine,” Louis snaps, and Harry’s eyebrows arch; the tone of Louis’ voice shows how not fine it really is. Louis seems to realise it the same time as Harry, shaking his head and sighing. “It’s shit, is what it is. Fucking shit. Some cunt knocked me to the ground last semester and something tore in my knee. Couldn’t play until I had surgery, and then it was all about recovering and healing.” Louis snorts. “Absolutely no training, doctor’s orders.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, though it doesn’t seem like Louis heard him. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’d be fine with it, like, if when it healed, I could be captain again,” Louis continues, his voice wavering on the last word. “The vice-captain, fucking cunt, did such a good job they don’t want me anymore. I’ve been–”

“Usurped?” Harry offers, and Louis opens his eyes, nodding eagerly. The wind picks up again, howling louder than before, but Harry doesn’t pay attention, just keeps listening to Louis intently.

“Yes! Usurped.” Louis repeats. It’s harder for Harry to focus on Louis in the dark, like he’s looking at Louis underwater, but his voice rings clear, even over the sound of the rain. “’S like I’ve been dethroned, and what do I have now? Football was always my _thing_ , y’know? It has been since I was a kid! People would always ask me about football. I’d talk about it all the time, and now, it’s gone and what do I have left? Who the fuck am I, if I’m not Louis Tomlinson, captain of the football team?”

Louis finishes his monologue with a huff, fists clenching on his knees. He shuffles closer to the heater, and Harry’s left wondering how to respond. Even as high as he is, he can tell that Louis’ been building up to an outburst like that for a long time, and maybe getting high with a stranger he couldn’t avoid was the perfect catalyst. Still, Harry’s never been good at solving problems, but he can at least try and make Louis feel a bit better.

“Louis Tomlinson, stoner,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ foot with his own. Louis’ daps are caked in mud, much like Harry’s own wellies.

“What an accolade,” Louis says with a laugh. Louis’ smile lingers, and he taps his foot, thinking. “I have a lot of younger sisters.”

“Louis Tomlinson, older brother,” Harry supplies, grinning. “Keep going.”

“My favourite band is Brand New,” he says.

Harry’s grin widens. “Louis Tomlinson, emo. What else you got?”

“I like classical music too. When I’m stressed or like, frustrated about something, I listen to a bunch of playlists on Spotify.”

“Louis Tomlinson, hidden Mozart,” Harry teases. The storm is at the back of his mind now, and even the fact that he’s locked inside this greenhouse until the morning isn’t unbearable now that he’s with Louis. This back and forth is the most fun Harry’s had with someone he barely knows in a long while.

“I get your point,” Louis admits softly. “Doesn’t mean the football thing isn’t still shit though, does it?”

“No, that’s still crap,” Harry says, tilting his head. “But I’ve seen you play. I used to go to as many of the first team’s matches as I could. I never knew much about you, but you’re brilliant on the pitch, and a great captain. You can win it back from whoever the fuck is captain now.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, surveying him sceptically. “You came to matches for me?”

“No, I went to matches because I enjoy the sport, Lewis,” Harry says. “And football players are hot, but I was mostly there for the sport. I’d like to watch you play sometime, properly knowing you.”

“We’ll see.” Louis shrugs, falling silent. Harry won’t push the topic, not when he doesn’t know Louis well enough to determine if pushing it is a good idea or not. Instead, he listens to the rain start to lighten, eventually coming to a stop. The clouds part just enough for moonlight to shine down through the glass panel-roof. It’s hauntingly beautiful to Harry’s hazy mind; how the silver highlights Louis’ high cheekbones, reflecting off the last few remaining droplet of water in his fringe and the blue of his eyes. Harry can’t think of anything to say, or what to do with his body, so he just sits still and stares.

“I have to piss,” Louis announces, ruining the moment. The clouds cover the moon again, and they’re plunged into darkness; the only light is the faint glow from the heater. “Can I piss in a plant?”

“What the fuck? No!” Harry digs out his own phone and turns on the torch, flashing the light around the greenhouse. There’s nowhere Louis can piss, other than the many plant pots or on the actual ground. “Just… just go in the corner.”

Louis arches his brows. “You’d rather me piss on the floor than in a plant pot?”

“Urine that’s not diluted is like, bad for the plants or something,” Harry explains. He’s pretty sure that’s scientific. He looked it up once but it was months ago. “If I don’t let you light up in here, why would I let you piss on my plants?”

“Right.” Louis stands abruptly and walks over to the furthest corner, the route lit by Harry’s phone. “Oi, turn that thing off now, yeah? I don’t want you seeing my dick like this.”

“Like this?” Harry echoes, questioning, but he turns the torch off his phone anyway.

“Pissing, yeah.” The faint trickle of pee breaks the silence, and Harry can’t help but giggle. “Stop laughing or I’ll come over there and piss on you.”

“That’s a lot of piss,” Harry says, laughing harder.

“Fuck off.” The piss eventually stops, and Harry hears the zipper of Louis’ jeans being pulled up. “I like to drink a lot of water before I get high,” he says, coming back to sit across from Harry. “Hydration and all that.”

“Very responsible,” Harry replies, unable to keep the smile from his lips. They fall into another comfortable silence, and Harry checks the time. It’s just gone midnight and it’s likely to be another eight hours before Nigel comes to the greenhouse for his shift in the morning. Maybe earlier if they’re lucky, and Nigel wants to check on the plants after the storm. Harry’s about to ask Louis more questions when Louis stretches his leg, face contorting into a wince.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, watching as Louis starts digging his fingers into his leg, around his knee.

“Sitting like this for too long makes it stiff,” Louis says, his voice tight like he’s in more pain than he’s letting on. “It gets a bit uncomfortable.”

“It’s that bad, huh?” Harry asks sympathetically.

“A real pain in my arse, yeah. Haven’t done my stretches today either.” Louis spends the next while massaging his knee and accidentally kicking Harry in the shin each time it cramps enough that he has to stretch it out again. Harry tries to keep talking so Louis doesn’t have to focus on the pain too much, but he can’t help but notice how easily Louis can touch the tips of his toes with his legs straight out in front of him, and what that means about his flexibility.

“Is your stamina as good as your suppleness?” Harry blurts out after an awkward pause where Louis decides it’s best to stand facing the heater and bend to the floor, leaving Harry trying not to stare at his arse. “Because you play football,” Harry says quickly, blushing furiously as Louis sits back down and stares quizzically at him. “You know, gotta keep in shape and all if you’re running up and down the pitch all the time.”

Louis bursts out laughing as Harry trails off, leaning forward with his shoulders shaking. “My stamina is definitely one of my better qualities,” he says, winking. Harry swallows, his throat suddenly very dry. “You’re right about my flexibility being good too. Wanna see me put my leg behind my head?”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Harry chokes out. The mental image alone might put Harry into an early grave, let alone watching Louis do the real thing.

“Well, you should give me your number in case you want to see me do it another time,” Louis says, pulling his phone out of his pocket again.

“Smooth,” Harry snorts, but he can’t deny the excited tremors running through his limbs at the evidence that Louis is clearly as interested in him as he is in Louis. “Give us your phone then.”

Louis unlocks his phone and lets out a loud scream. “I’ve got signal!” he shouts, thrusting his phone in Harry’s face to show him. “That’s one whole bar there, I can call someone!”

“Do it then,” Harry says quickly, checking his own phone. Still nothing.

“Shit, who’s good in a crisis?” Louis mutters to himself, scrolling through his phone. “Okay, I’m just gonna ring Liam.”

Harry gestures for him to hurry up while Louis calls Liam, putting the phone on speaker near his ear and biting his thumb as they wait for the line to connect.

“ _Lou? What the fuck have you done now?”_ comes a groggy voice. Whoever Liam is, Louis has clearly just woken him up. A regular occurrence too, by the sounds of it.

“Oi, don’t give me that,” Louis snaps into the phone. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time to talk –”

“ _How much trouble are you in_?”

“—just come to the uni greenhouse as soon as you can,” Louis continues, rolling his eyes when Liam grunts in response. “Listen, I’m locked in there with the president of the gardening soc—”

“Hi,” Harry chips in.

“ _Didn’t even know we had a gardening society_ ,” Liam mutters.

“Focus, Liam!” Louis sighs. “It’s a long story but if you love me, and want me to return everything I’ve ever stolen from your room, you’ll come break us out of here. I already pissed in a plant pot, I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

Harry whacks Louis’ good knee. “I told you not to piss on the plants!”

“They’ll be _fine_ ,” Louis hisses, away from the phone. “Are you on your way, Li?”

There’s muffled noises coming through the speaker, and a distinctly feminine groan, but Liam’s voice returns barely a moment later. “ _Yeah, but you owe me so fucking much, Tommo. I was **asleep**_.”

“And if you hurry, you’ll be asleep again in less than an hour,” Louis points out diplomatically. “With your favourite blanket too, so come on. We’re counting on you, Payno.”

With that, Louis hangs up.

“That’s pretty good of him to come down here past midnight,” Harry says, fiddling with his sleeve.

Louis nods, tucking his phone away. “Yeah, Liam might complain a lot, but he’s a good guy. And he’s fucking ripped, if anyone can get that door open, it’s him.”

Liam appears twenty minutes later, during which Harry and Louis start playing rock, paper, scissors to pass the time. He raps sharply on the glass panels on the door, and Harry screams lets out a shrill screech that send Louis reeling backwards with laughter.

“I’ve never –” Louis wheezes, clutching his belly, “seen _anyone_ look so terrified.”

“It caught me off guard,” Harry says, giggling himself. He scrambles off the ground and hurries to the door, catching sight of a pale-faced man bundled up in about a thousand hoodies. “Liam?”

“Yeah,” Liam confirms, rubbing his hands together. “Will the door just open, then?”

“It’ll take some wriggling,” Harry says apologetically. Liam grabs the handle and pulls down, frowning when it doesn’t budge. “See what I mean? Just keep at it, thanks.”

It takes Liam a solid five minutes of yanking on the door handle, with Harry and Louis shouting cheers of encouragement from inside, until the door croaks open and a rush of icy, stinging wind hits them both.

“Fucking hell, I’d rather stay inside,” Louis mutters, but he quickly steps out of the greenhouse anyway, flinging himself at Liam. “Knew you’d come through.”

“I just opened a door, mate,” Liam laughs, patting Louis on the back. “You still owe me.”

“I’ll give you back your blanket when we’re home,” Louis promises, letting Liam go and tapping his cheeks. Louis turns to face Harry and smiles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well, that was an adventure.”

“Shame your weed farm idea didn’t work out,” Harry says, teeth chattering. He needs to grab his coat and lock up the greenhouse so he can get himself back home as soon as possible. He doesn’t want to catch hypothermia and die, after all, but he also doesn’t want to leave Louis just yet. “But if you ever fancy gardening more, uh, _legal_ plants, you should swing by.”

“Maybe I will,” Louis says, rocking back on his heels. “Need to get your phone number, don’t I?”

“I could give it to you now—”

“See you tomorrow, Harold,” Louis interrupts, grabbing Liam’s elbow and dragging him off towards the main campus.

Harry grins to himself, digging the keys to the greenhouse out of his pocket and calling after them. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lou.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this and want to share, there's a tumblr post [here!](http://achilleus.tumblr.com/post/144104109174/somebody-like-you-rating-teen-pairing)


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